


Rose

by smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger



Series: Bucky/Reader [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Anyways, Bad Writing, F/M, I Tried, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tragedy, this is shit im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger/pseuds/smokeandmirrorscloakanddagger
Summary: In a world where soulmates share each other's scars, oddly enough it's a tattoo that brings Bucky and the reader together.





	1. Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this is such shit. But nothing I do will make it sit right. I hope you like it anyways. <3 It's my first foray into the soulmate trope and I honestly can't say how I feel about it. Anyways, please let me know your thoughts/criticisms.

“I like your tattoo.”

Really Bucky couldn’t say what made him say that. The café he’s in isn’t busy, in fact he might be the only person still there. The woman stops, smiles down at him, and says, “Thanks!” She’s holding a round tray with dirty glasses and mugs and saucers as she cleans the small space. Carefully she sets the tray down on a nearby table and comes closer, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. He doesn’t fail to notice that it’s Avengers themed. The woman holds out her hand to him, wiggling her fingers.

Bucky peers closer, admiring the large pink rose that covers part of the top and side of her hand and wrist while green vines circle her wrist and travel up her arm a little. He glances away when he feels he’s been staring too long, tugging his baseball cap lower. “Does it mean something? Or do you just like it?”

“Little of both. Mind if I sit?” She’s smiling softly, half-way embarrassed about asking. “You’re in here almost every day.”

He glances at the floor, mortification flooding his cheeks as Bucky realizes that she’s noticed him. The beautiful woman before him wasn’t supposed to have noticed him, not when he came in here every day _because_ of her, because he felt drawn to her, because of her kindness to the customers, because of her perpetually pink cheeks. He had glanced her through the window one day and that had been it.

“Sorry,” she says, backing away suddenly, grabbing up the tray again, “I realize maybe that was a little too forward of me and more than a little assuming.”

Before he can stop her she’s across the room picking up more dishware. Bucky wouldn’t have pegged her as the nervous, self-conscious sort when he first saw her. What with the combat boots and the dark clothes, the tattoo and her wild hair. He wonders briefly if she has other tattoos and if she does where they might be. But the more he watched her the more he had realized that she’s shy, and kind, and soft. Bucky stands and approaches her before he can talk himself out of it, making sure to make enough noise as he approaches so he doesn’t startle her.

She turns and gives him a pained smile, “I’m really-,”

A shake of his head has her settling into silence, “I was rude. I would love for you to sit with me sometime but I’m already late.” He had allowed himself more time than usual in the small place today.

The blush returns to her cheeks, “Alright, some other time then…” She raises a brow at him.

“James.”

She relaxes a little, “James. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he breathes, the name familiar, almost like it belonged with him. “Y/N, I like that. Next time okay?”

“Next time,” Y/N echoes, smiling brightly at him.

 

~

 

Over the next few weeks Bucky takes every chance he can to go and see Y/N. He learns when her breaks are and when her shifts end so that he might spend time with her. Bucky likes chatting with her, likes making her blush and stutter, likes watching her talk and listening to her voice.

He knows he’s in love with this girl but he can’t much help it. And really he doesn’t want to help it.  

 

~

 

When Bucky next arrives in the shop its empty again. Two baristas are flirting with each other behind the bar, ignoring Bucky entirely not that he minds. It takes a moment for Y/N to make her presence known sometimes.

When she does it’s from the back room as she unties her apron around her waist, eyes searching the room until they land on him. She beams and makes her way over to him. “James!” She greets happily, sitting herself at his table before bouncing right back up, “Sorry! I’m off now but did you want something to drink or-,”

He smiles gently at her, “No, doll, ‘m fine.” Slowly she sits back down, fidgeting with the rings that adorn her fingers until Bucky asks, “Like the Avengers?”

“What?”

Bucky nods to her apron by the counter, “Avengers?” He’s never asked about the team before despite the fact that she always wore that apron, too afraid she might squint at him and suddenly realize who he is.

She smiles nervously, tucking some hair behind her ears, “Yeah. I guess you could say that. Captain America fell through the window there when the damn aliens came out of the hole in the sky. Saved my life.”

Bucky falls in love just a little more, “Lotta people don’t have such good opinions of them right now.”

“So I gotta have the same one?” She asks, voice a little defensive.

He shakes his head violently, “God no, ‘m with you. I think they’re doin’ the world a favor, even if they don’t gotta.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkle the as she launches into the story of how Captain America, still wrestling with an alien, crashed through their front window and subsequently saved their lives. She’s animated and happy, none of her usual self-consciousness and blushing occurring for the moment. And Bucky finds himself half torn between listening to her for the rest of eternity because he’s so mesmerized by her and jealousy that she’s talking about _Steve_. A familiar flare of inadequateness starts in his gut when, “James?” She waves one hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, looking up from the grain pattern in the table that he had been familiarizing himself with. “Sorry, what were ya sayin’?” Her mouth twists in a pained sort of way as her leg starts to jitter under the table. Then she starts to bite her lip and he knows that she thinks he finds her uninteresting suddenly. “Hey,” he reaches forward, surprising himself, and lays his right hand over one of hers. “I zoned out. I’m sorry. It’s something that happens to me a lot please don’t take offense.” He glances down at her hand, “Got any other tattoos?”

She sighs and takes her hand away, before smiling, “I did notice you sorta wander off in your mind sometimes.” Her eyes widen, “Not that I watch you! God, that sounds so horrible. I-I,” she stops and Bucky chuckles at her, her face once again scarlet as she pushes her hair back. “Stop laughing at me James.” He snaps his mouth shut, panic surging through him, when she giggles at him, “I’m just jokin’. But to answer your question yes I do. But it’s difficult.”

He frowns, “Why’s that?”

A fond smile overcomes her face as she glances at the pair behind the counter. Bucky looks too and notices the identical scars that run along both their left forearms. “He fell out of a tree when he was a kid. They found each other here.” She looks back to Bucky who suddenly feels sick because he _forgot_ about fucking soulmates. Soulmates shared each other’s scars from the time received until death, and even then they stayed, eternally marked for the other person. People don’t usually forget about soulmates, but Bucky had given up on that the second he got his draft papers, resigned to leaving that person behind no matter how much it hurt. His skin, until he began to gather his own scars had been strangely clean, as though his soulmate had never seen the tiniest bit of harm, not even a scratch.   

And he doesn’t know why it’s so important suddenly but the thought of this person, this girl being with _anyone_ makes him feel ill. She’s too good, too kind, too blush-y and embarrassed and perfect. Bucky feels like he’s knows her, like he’s always known her. His skin sparks when she’s around, her name feels right in his mouth, his heart yearns to be close to hers. She can’t have a soulmate because-

Y/N’s speaking again and he remembers his question, “-so I don’t want to get any more besides the one on my hand and the teeny-tiny one on my ribs because I don’t want to go over any of the scars. I went over some with the rose when I got mad one day and decided I didn’t care. But, I regretted it…they’re what connects me to him and…they’re special, I don’t want to write over top of them. Or get more and then a scar appears under it. They’re everywhere. He’s been through a lot, been hurt more than any person should ever have to endure.” She slides her hands up her covered arms and sighs, “I won’t find him anyways.”

Bucky is rapt with attention and he hates himself a little because of it. For hoping, praying, for this girl he barely knows to be as alone as he is so that he might have a chance with her. But it shouldn’t matter because she’s- “Why do you say that?”

Blushing as red as he’s ever seen her she says, “Well, I, uh, was born with my scars which just doesn’t happen, you grow together usually, collect each other’s scars as you get older. So, he’s either very old or uh, already gone.” She twists her fingers together on the table and gives an apologetic smile. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore I mean I know it’s weird. It just doesn’t happen like that and people think there must be something wrong with me to be…practically without a soulmate.”

And Bucky has an unexpectedly terrible idea. He _is_ strangely drawn to her, couldn’t have stopped coming to this small café day after day, week after week, month after month, even if he wanted to, he doesn’t want her to be with anyone except for well, _him_. And then the fact that she was born _with_ scars…and then Bucky remembers the tiny white lines he has near his hips and thighs that he vaguely remembers appearing unexpectedly, maybe they aren’t his, maybe not all of his scars are _his._ Maybe some of the tiny one's are hers.

“Show me.”

She jerks back and stares at him, “Excuse me?” Y/N stands abruptly, chair scraping backwards, “I’m not some freak to be put on display.” Her voice is a low with hurt and betrayal as she turns on her heal and heads toward the door.

“Wait!” He shoots up and heads her off, thankful for the empty café. “Wait, just hold on.” Bucky notices the two at the counter staring and asks if they can go somewhere more private.

“No,” she says, eyes wide as she backs away from him.

“I didn’t mean, _fuck_ , I didn’t mean it how it sounded and I’m sorry. It was rude of me to blurt that out, just please hear me out. I think….I think you might be mine. And I think I might be yours.” He's baring his soul to this woman as somethin like hope blossoms in his chest. After all these years, after everything that had happened to him...

She backs away farther, back hitting a table, “You’re crazy. Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve had them since I was born.” Y/N eyes him warily, her voice trembling, “You don’t fit that.” When he steps forward she cowers away from him with wide eyes, “Stay away from me. Go, get out of here.” When he steps forward again she flinches and that’s what makes him stop. Bucky won’t be able to stand himself if he makes her afraid of him.

Bucky backs up a few steps, hands raised, “Look I know its crazy. But please let me explain how it might be possible.” Y/N stays huddled into herself, eyes the size of dinner plates, cheeks flushed. “Please. I-I know you feel the pull too. I know you can’t stop coming to me like I can’t stop coming to you. It's why you always look for me, why you always sit with me even when you're dead tired.”

He holds his hand out and hopes to God that she might take it. “Please, Y/N, please let me explain.” When she doesn’t say anything or move, in fact looks more terrified than ever he continues, “Please, let me help you understand. But,” his heart breaks a little as he takes her in, who he’s sure now is his soulmate, terrified of him, “if you tell me no, I’ll go. And I won’t bother you again.”

For a moment she stares at his hand, still held toward her, before meeting his eyes. The universe stops and holds its breath, waits for the two to come together.

“No.”


	2. Fate Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate has a way of making things okay, of putting broken pieces back where they belong, to make a thing whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the first time I've had wifi in like two weeks...so I'm posting! I hope y'all like it!

A week goes by.

Then, two.

Then, three and four and five.

And the entire time Y/N can’t seem to get James out of her head. She can’t seem to get the hopeful look in his eyes out of her mind as he extended his hand to her, or the way her heart jumped in her chest with the want, the _need_ , to take it, to trust him and let him explain.

Then she had uttered ‘no’ and his face had shattered, embarrassment and shame and defeat flickering across his features. She half expected him to stay and fight, to demand she listen to him. But instead he had stuck to his word and walked away. And Y/N had nearly ran after him because she _wanted_ to know, she desperately did. But all her life she had thought she didn’t have a soulmate. And she had made her peace with that, that she’s alone and broken and always would be because fate had thought her unworthy of that sort of bond, had stolen her soulmate away before she had gotten to meet him. To feel the pull that everyone always described, to feel connected beyond words, to want him to be _right_ had scared her beyond words, terrified her in a way she had never felt before.

When you grow up thinking your soulmate is dead you don’t have to think about the moment they might find you.

And so she had decided not to let him find her.

 

~

 

Yet life puttered on. Y/N’s days at the coffee shop were dull, the world, it seemed, had faded a bit without James’s constant presence. She has no idea how to find him again _or_ how to beg for forgiveness _or_ how to ask him to please, please, _please_ explain to her how he might be hers.

Because Y/N is tired. And lonely. And miserable. And James had looked much the same way, until he hadn’t, until he became a regular at the shop. He had started smiling and laughing, quietly maybe, but it had happened. It had been because of her.

But fate has a way of making these things okay, of putting broken pieces back where they belong, to make a thing whole again. Bucky Barnes had suffered years and years, endured more than any human should ever have to, had been turned inside out and tortured to insanity only to turn around and persevere. Fate would not give up so easily.

 

~

 

Bucky watches Y/N. He can’t much help it, especially now that he knows who she is. She’s _his_. If only she would believe it. Her eyes are dull, shoulders slumped, and he can tell by the way she walks that her feet hurt much more than usual.

The rooftop he’s on is uncomfortable at best but it has the best vantage point on the café. He starts to stand so that he can make his way to the street and follow her to make sure she gets home alright, because even if she might not believe what they are he _does_ and so he’ll keep her safe.

Then she sniffles.

He pauses, rage thrumming through his blood, because someone had upset her enough to make her cry and stop on the darkened street to search for a tissue in her purse. And in her search she fails to notice the two men creeping up the deserted street behind her. Bucky bolts for the fire escape, making his way down as fast and quiet as he possibly can. She’s still standing there looking through her bag when he appears before her and takes her hand in his flesh one, about to whisper to her not to panic, when the men pass by.

They don’t even glance up, both focused on something on a phone one of them holds between the two of them. Bucky goes still as he stares at the ground somewhere to her left, panic now surging through him, escape plans running through his mind, each worse than the last when her voice makes his whole world stop.

“It’s you,” she whispers, Y/N’s voice full of wonder as her hand turns in his so that she can grip his hand tightly. Slowly, cautiously, he looks up, to meet wide, amazed eyes. He glances away quickly. “I-I’ve been looking for you. I’m always looking out for you but I never see you anymore and I thought…”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, not really hearing her words, focused only on the fact that he fucked up as he remembers her horrified expression in the coffee shop that day. “I…I thought you were in danger and you weren’t and I shouldn’t be here. You made it clear that you-,”

“James-,”

“Bucky.” His voice is hard, adamant.

Y/N decides not to question it, not when he’s finally in front of her. “Bucky,” she whispers, wondering at the way his eyes clench closed when she says his name. “I-I, it was me. I’m the one that should be sorry. And I, God, I should explain. You don’t have to let me but I would like to.” He still hasn’t _really_ looked at her so, dreading her decision, she puts a curled finger under his chin and lifts his head. His eyes are blue and exhausted and…terrified? “I’m sorry. I want you to explain and I want to explain. I want to be yours, I really do.”

When he doesn’t move or say anything she pushes her anxiety aside and steps forward so no space is between them, “Please?”

He lets out a sudden, hard breath, dipping his head against her warm, solid hand, “Yes.”

She tugs on his arm, hands still linked together, “C’mon. I trust you. To my apartment.”

Bucky allows himself to be led a few blocks to her apartment even though he already knows where it is. Once inside she gently makes him sit at her kitchen table and makes tea for both of them. While she works to whip up something for dinner she says quietly, “You can talk if you like, tell me. I’m listening now and I’m sorry I wasn’t before.”

And because he figures he has nothing to lose Bucky does just that. He starts at the beginning, where his story always begins, with his skinny, asthmatic friend, a war, and Brooklyn.

 

~

 

By the end of his story they’re both at the table staring into empty mugs of tea, the food long forgotten on their plates.

“It’s crazy,” he says to the tabletop. “I’m crazy. And you deserve better, I’m sorry for having wasted your time, doll.” Bucky pauses and then sighs and corrects himself, “ _Ma’am_. I’m sorry for having wasted your time, ma’am.”

She frowns at him as he starts to stand, thinking that she probably wanted even less to do with him after that train wreck of a life story, “I believe you. I’ve heard about you.”

“Then you’ll know what a monster I am.” He says, half out of his chair but not going any further.

Nervousness eats at her as she twists her hands together, “I won’t lie to you. I did think that at one point. But after a while I didn’t quite believe what the news was spewing and I definitely don’t believe it now. Besides when Captain America is being broadcast around the world saying that his friend is _good_ who am I to question it?” She pauses, hands shaking a little harder, “Can I show you something? Can you promise not to leave when you see?”

He settles himself back down on the chair. “I promise,” he doubts that anything she shows him could make him want to leave.

She eyes him carefully before grasping the hem of her long sleeved t-shirt and pulling her it over her head. Left in just her camisole Bucky gasps and swallows hard. Every scar he’s ever received is littered across her body. He doesn’t remember half of them, not only because of his shit memory but also because most of them are gone from his body. What scarred this normal girl and what healed very different from what the Winter Soldier, hopped up on some version of the super-serum, would receive. Her body had retained the scars that had faded from his long ago.

They’re more violent looking too, harshness she never received displayed on her skin. He bites back the bile rising in his throat and fights the urge to flee because he _promised_ he wouldn’t leave, “Could you feel it? I didn’t-these, these faded from me-they-,” He starts to reach out to her, to trace the damaged flesh, before yanking his hand away. “Do they hurt?” Bucky asks thickly, “Mine ache sometimes and I’m so sorry if-,”

“ _No_ ,” she says, desperate for him to understand. “I’m not showing you to make you feel…I’m showing you b-because-,” she stops herself and huffs out a frustrated sigh, “Look.” She turns so her left side is closest to him where before his eyes hadn’t dared to stray, knowing what he would find there. The scarring is identical, something he stares at with revulsion every morning in the mirror. “I am yours,” she whispers without looking at him.

“I am so sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head and looking away, his throat aching with unshed tears. “So, so sorry.”

Y/N stays quiet for a moment before reaching across the table to take his metal hand. She pulls the glove that had been hiding it off and traces his palm, cool to her warm skin, “Every soulmate story I hear is the same. They meet and its instant attraction, they kiss or sometimes do more than that, and they get married. And the rest is history and everything is perfect. But you and me? I thought I’d never meet mine even though I always defended you, wore your scars with pride until my job forced me to hide them. I was always, _always_ so, so proud of you. I just never thought I’d meet you on this Earth.”

She glances away from his eyes, “I loved you even if fate had it in mind that we’d never meet. And you had thought the same? Before the war? And up until now?” Bucky nods, in awe, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I always told grand stories about this scar on my shoulder when I was a kid. My soulmate was brave and daring and fought monsters and dragons and lived somewhere so far-off and important that I’d probably have to travel the whole world to meet you. When I got older I wondered how you came by it, what happened, and why the rest of this arm is only dotted with minor dings, childhood, baby scars, and why no more ever appeared-,”

He takes his hand out of hers and sits back in his seat, disgust thick in his voice, “And now you know the horrible truth-,”

“No, now-now I know how _right_ I was all this time.” Y/N pauses, “What I’m trying to say is, our story is different and we didn’t meet the way we were supposed to. I didn’t know what that pull meant, I didn’t know why everything I did suddenly revolved around one quiet customer, why I felt so nervous around you. And why the day you spoke to me felt like the whole world stopped. We didn’t run at each other and kiss and get married the day after. And so when you claimed to be who I thought I’d never meet…I was terrified and reacted badly and I’m sorry, Bucky, I am so sorry. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s the truth and it’s all I have.”

She pauses for a second before continuing, “We’re special. We came into it slowly. And I think maybe it’s better this way, _meant_ to be this way y’know?” She smiles gently and jokes, “I don’t really want people running at me and kissing me anyways.”

It’s silent after that, Bucky staring at the floor as he thinks, Y/N just happy that Bucky hadn’t bolted out the door the second she took off her shirt. She decides to let him think, gathering up the forgotten dishes and moving to the sink to begin washing them. Even though her apartment is chilly she doesn’t put her sweater back on, trying to show Bucky, _the Winter Soldier, Sergeant Barnes, the only Howling Commando to give his life_ , that she’s not afraid and more importantly that she’s not ashamed, that she never has been. 

A few minutes pass by when a presence looms behind her, “You shouldn’t have had to come into it slowly. You…you should have had someone run at you full-tilt and kiss you with all they’ve got. But you got me instead.”

She turns to meet his eyes when he continues, “And…me…well, darlin’ I’ll never be that man. I’ll never be able to-,”

His eyes drift to her scars, _his_ scars, before snapping back up to her face, pained and miserable. “You can touch them,” Y/N murmurs, trying to soothe him. “I promise they’ve never pained me. I’m sorry yours do.”

One hand, his flesh hand as he selfishly wants to fully _feel_ her warm skin, reaches out to tentatively thumb at her shoulder. He lets out a soft, “Oh, fuck,” before his head dips forward, hair obscuring his face. Eyes clenched closed he mutters, “Oh, fuck. Shit, babydoll I am so fuckin’ sorry that you got a fucked up soulmate like me.”

She takes his hand gingerly from her shoulder to hold between both of hers, “You aren’t. You were made for me. You’re mine and you are exactly the way you’re supposed to be. Do you think I’m fucked up?”

His head jerks up, eyes wide and hurt, “ _No_ , God no, of course not.” She’s everything, she’s perfect, she’s-

“Then why should I think that of you?” she asks. “I think you’re just right. So I’m a little more bumped up than usual.” She shrugs, “Does it bother you?”

“Only knowin’ that you were probably-,” That she was probably ridiculed and teased and maybe even physically _hurt_ because of him-

“Not what I asked.”

He pauses, “No. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.” One hand goes gently to his face to cradle his jaw, her other hand still holding his flesh one, as he huffs out a hard breath. “I thought you…I thought this was another one of life’s tricks. When you said no, I-I thought…it made sense y’know? To find you and know that I was right and know you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Her heart breaks a little and strains to be closer to his already well-battered one, “I’m going to hug you.”

The tension in the room breaks with her warning and Bucky laughs, “Yeah, okay. Alright, Y/N.”

Soft but firm arms encircle his waist as her head rests on his shoulder. Bucky's arms go around her back automatically, holding her as gently as possible, “Meant to be,” she says. “There’s a reason for that and I’m so, so, so fucking sorry that I-that I tried to push that away. Even when I didn’t know your name I felt better when you were at the café. Safer and warmer and more at ease and just _better_ , y’know? Just really good inside.”

“Yeah,” he breathes against her hair, not daring to believe that this might be real, that his feelings might be returned. Bucky had went back to that place day after day, drawn to her and the feeling of peace he got there, the feeling of safety, that not even the advanced protection of the Tower could offer him. “I-I felt, I _feel_ , the same. Warm and safe.”

For good measure Y/N whispers to him again, “I’m sorry.”

Bracing himself for rejection he kisses her hair and waits. When she doesn’t push him away he does it again and murmurs, “No, darlin’, don’t be. I wish maybe it would have went better but I think like you said…there’s a reason.”

She pulls back from his chest suddenly to look into his eyes, “We’re here right now. This is our moment.”

Bucky stares at her before reaching up to cup Y/N’s face carefully between his palms, “I think so too.” His eyes are on her lips as her arms wind around his waist. “I could have never rushed in,” he murmurs lowly to himself. “I watched you after I knew. Became familiar once I knew, it wasn’t rushed, I always need time for new people and…I-,” he glances up, eyes wide. “Makes sense. I coulda never just-,”

Her fingers move from his waist to loop around his wrists, eyes sparkling with tears, “Fate finds a way.” The saying whispered between soulmates had always seemed silly until now. “Fate is you.”

“I think it’s my time to kiss you. I think it’s time we became each other’s.”

“I think you’re right.”

Bucky kisses Y/N hard, fully, and with love. It isn’t passion. Its soul settling. It’s coming home.

Fate smiles.

 


End file.
